


Listening Face

by Cloudnine101



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, But Even He Can't Take These Idiots, Crack, Gen, Minor References To Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce really isn't that kind of doctor. Nobody else seems to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening Face

_1_

 

"And the fact that you’ve been able to help me process…you with me?"

Tony's voice swims through the gap between them, fuzzy and faded at the edges. 

Bruce holds his pen a little tighter, slipping out of sleep. "I was, yeah." There's an itch in his neck. He wonders what the least offensive way to scratch it would be.

Tony frowns, and says, "Are you actively napping?"'

"I was...I - I - I drifted," Bruce admits. In his head, he'd been chasing an alligator across some kind of swamp. Bruce doesn't care to think too deeply about it. 

"Where did I lose you?" Tony asks. 

Bruce considers lying. He thinks better of it. "Elevator," he says, "in Switzerland."

"So you heard none of it?"

Mentally, Bruce sinks into the floor. Tony's eyes scream of betrayal.

"I'm sorry. I’m not that kind of doctor. I’m not a therapist. It’s not my training. I don’t have the..."

"What? The time?" Tony asks, sounding like the indignant four year old child he obviously is.

Tony's going to be sore at dinner. He'll probably add popping candy to Bruce's soup, or something. In the meantime, Bruce resolves to simply forget all about Tony's story - whatever it was. It probably had supermodels in it. That appears to be a recurring them. 

"Temperament," Bruce finishes, lamely.

"Now, that I think about it," Tony says. "Uh, God, my original wound, 1983, alright - I’m fourteen years old, I still have a nanny. _That_ was weird."

 _Hulk could crush him_ , the Big Guy suggests, somewhere in the back of Bruce's brain. _Crush puny Stark._

Bruce sighs. It's looking like one of _those_ days.

 

_2_

 

"I think I'm a bad person," Natasha tells him, over a drink. In the cup, the marshmallows bob towards her nose. "I've killed. Many times."

"Uh-huh," Bruce says.

"Also, I tape America's Next Top Model and force Steve to watch it, because he doesn't know how to pause the screen."

"That does sound funny," Bruce admits, around a gulp of coffee.

Natasha sits back. "When I was a child, I strangled somebody with a liquorice lace."

"Well," Bruce says, "that's - certainly something."

Natasha's hair falls in curls around her neck. "It was gruesome," she says. "I had nightmares for weeks."

"I'm sorry." Bruce considers taking Natasha's hand, but then decides against it. "Do you want me to pay the bill?"

"Is that a metaphor?" Natasha's nose crinkles. "No. Don't tell me."

"It isn't," Bruce assures her. "Really."

"I use to think about growing up as a kind of fantasy ride. I didn't consider the fact that everything would turn out like this. Let's face it - the only thing I love is my work, and I probably won't live long enough to receive my pension."

Natasha's painted fingernails drum against the table.

"Okay," Bruce says. "Isn't there some kind of support group for Shield agents?"

Natasha peers at him blankly. "No. Of course not. That would be inane."

Bruce shrugs. "Fine," he says.

Natasha leans backwards, musing. "I think I want to see other people get together in order to fill the momentous hole in my life. What do you think?" 

Yep. _Definitely_ one of those days.

 

_3_

 

The next time, Bruce turns around, only to find Steve grabbing his arm. In the doorway, Thor appears to shoot a curious stare behind him, without noticeably looking around. Bruce tries for a smile.

"Can we talk?" Steve says. "It wouldn't have to be a long talk. But it is - important."

Thor eyes Steve in Mjolnir's reflection. Bruce pretends not to notice.

"I'm kind of busy, Captain. Sorry. But this project won't finish itself, and I really have to - "

Steve's lips seal shut. His eyes glisten. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I should've considered - I'm sorry. Another time, maybe?"

 _Smash_ , the Big Guy screams. _It could be done. It is easy for Hulk._

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. "Right. What do you want to - "

"I think I might have been in love with Bucky," Steve blurts. "Back when he was alive, I mean. Is that a bad thing? Should I be worried?"

"No." Bruce lays a hand on his shoulder. There's a little lump building in his chest. "The world's changed. People are a lot less stupid, generally."

Steve smiles gently. "Yeah. I gathered. It's just - " 

"I would second that," Thor booms. "On Asgard, it is common practice for men to form bonds of romance. My brother and I, for example, and also that one with the horse - Sleipnir came from it, one of the many children Loki bore. Now, _that_ was a good - "

"Oh God," Steve says, and runs from the room.

 

_4_

 

"I wish to continue our conversation from yesterday."

Bruce stares upwards. Thor's grinning pleasantly. There's a flush to his cheeks, as though he had been standing outside for too long without a jacket. Knowing Thor, he'd probably been frolicking naked in the snow.

"Conversation?" Bruce asks. "And the white Christmas is appreciated, but it's the middle of April."

Thor shrugs. "In Asgard, we have no concept of seasons, as you might understand them. I make it snow whenever somebody feels like a change." Lowering himself down, he passes Bruce's eyeline. The workbench creaks beneath his weight.

"Right," Bruce says. "So."

"My brother and I," Thor says cheerfully, "have often engaged in coitus. I have been told that it keeps the bloodline pure."

_KILL HIM. SMASH HIM. HULK WILL KILL HIM. KILL -_

"I have nothing to say to that."

Thor stands. He begins to pace. "I do not understand," he roars suddenly, "how he could - leave me!" Thor's eyebrows wriggle up his forehead. 

"I'm hardly a relationship counsellor, or a psychoanalyst," Bruce mutters, "but even I can tell that guy's as crazy as a bag of cats - sorry." 

Thor spins around, giving the snow falling fast outside an imperious look. The sky becomes blue and clear. Some birds, presumably terrified out of their stupor, begin singing for all they're worth.

"Yes. Yes, that is true." Slowly, Thor sets his hammer down. He's got a faraway look in his eyes. "But he is still my brother. It is tradition, after all. Technically, we are not even related."

"I'm the Avengers support group," Bruce tells the wall.

"The Frost Giants," Thor chuckles. "Truly, they are the most ridiculous race - but not as ridiculous as some of my fellow Asgardians. The stories I could tell about _them_ \- "'

 

_5_

 

It's a Monday afternoon. The rush of Shield agents calling out for assistance is slowly decreasing. This meaning, Bruce had been asked, by a small man wearing a blue jumper, whether he'd consider stepping in for weapons testing - as in, having the weapons tested on him.

Bruce had politely declined.

It would be nice, Bruce thinks, to have a normal evening - but there is Clint. He's perched on a rafter, wearing standard Shield black from head to toe, and holding an impressive looking arrow with flashing red lights on it. Apparently, black suits everybody.

"You may as well come down," Bruce says, setting his file to one side. "Start at the beginning, and finish at the end. I can't handle any time jumps. Also, if you feel like making any dramatic gestures, could you put the bow down first? As a side, I don't allow accompanying diagrams. They take up too much time."

Clint nods, once. "Alright," he says. He pauses, seemingly searching for words. "Did you ever hear about the circus I lived in? Nat must've said something. She usually fills people in who she - enjoys spending time with."

Bruce shakes his head, and starts casting around for a chair. Finding nothing, he says, "No, I can't say that she has." 

"She does like - being with you, though. A large amount." Clint smiles softly. "She thinks you're sweet." 

"I - thank you." Bruce shakes his head, and tries to call to mind all the reasons why Natasha Romanov is not good for him. He has made quite an extensive list. 

 

_6_

 

Bruce is sitting in the cafeteria in the aftermath of Clint's monologue, hoping that some quiet will nurse the Big Guy back into oblivion. He still has images of trapezes and locked rooms swimming through his head.

Maria Hill takes the seat opposite him, her suit jacket scraping the bench. For a few blissful seconds, there is silence.

"I feel overwrought," Maria says. "I'm working twelve hours a day. The last time I sat down was forty eight hours ago. I haven't looked in a mirror since Tuesday, an alien force is headed straight for the planet, and I may have a crush on my boss. What do I do, Bruce?"

Maria looks at him, steely eyed. She takes a moment to blink.

"Coffee will help," Bruce says.

"But it _isn't_ helping."

Carefully, Bruce breathes in. "My opinion is," he considers saying, "that you should take your problem, and put it somewhere warm and dark - and by that, I do not mean a Shield locker."

"If you let it," Bruce actually says, "it will work its magic. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my own life to attend to. People seem to be forgetting that. I'm going to set myself a very difficult radiology question, and work on it - undisturbed - for the next twelve hours. Are we clear?"

Maria Hill nods. Her face seals over. She stands, the very picture of professionalism. "Naturally. Thank you for your time, Doctor Banner. I'll be seeing you again."

"Is that the official Shield sign off?" Bruce says, but she's already walking away. "No wonder Natasha uses it so often." 

 

_7_

 

"No," Bruce says. "No, you cannot be here. Thor's already given me the - low-down. I don't want to hear about your - your liaison, okay? I bet that's why you're here. Everybody wants to talk to me. _Everybody_."

Loki - _the_ Loki - is lying, sprawled out, on his sofa. His cloak billows around him. "I have not heard your - discussions," he sneers. "I merely wish to know what my brother thinks of me - if he thinks of me at all. You seem to be knowledgable in that aspect."

There's a gun in the hall closet, Bruce remembers vaguely. If he could only get there, he could grab it.

_Hulk will smash his skull like grapes. Again._

"This gun?" Loki asks, and holds up a pistol. "Please. I _am_ a god."

_Hulk will grind his sparkly bones to pulp._

"Of course you are." Bruce sits down, spent. The floor is mottled brown and green, like bottle glass. "He still wants to - engage in coitus, or whatever. Can you leave now?"

 _Loki said_ mewling quim _! Hulk will take him! Hulk doesn't know what_ mewling quim _is, and it makes Hulk mad!_

Bruce may be growling. He's not sure, and doesn't much care.

Loki's eyebrows rise. "Interesting," he murmurs. His fingers steeple together. In the dark, his eyes stand out in hollows. He licks his lips. "Tell me, Doctor Banner, have you considered doing this for a living?"

 

_8_

 

"Loki was at my house last night," Bruce says. He feels like slamming his fists down on the table. And then on Agent Coulson. "He was on _my_ couch, reading _my_ paper."

"Oh," Coulson replies. "We know. We're tracking him now."

Coulson's office is bland. Aside from the full-sized Captain America poster taking up the far wall, it's devoid of colour entirely. The poster even has a height mark on it - presumably Steve's, before the operation. It's been signed - probably a Shield work perk.

"You couldn't have stopped him yesterday?"

Bruce peers at the poster more closely. Apparently, when signing, Cap had been letting instinct take over. Written at bottom was, in small letters: _Every Bond You Buy Is A Bullet In The Barrel Of Your Best Guy's Gun._

Coulson shakes his head. He looks, Bruce thinks, like some kind of overworked pigeon. His collar stands upright. 

 _Can Hulk smash now?_ The voice sounds almost eager. _Break stupid fanboy poster. Hard._

"No," Coulson says.

"I had to chase him out of my property," Bruce says. "In fact, it _almost_ made me angry. _Almost_."

Coulson's lip twitches. "Would you like to talk about it?" he says.

Bruce slams the door on his way out. It falls off its hinges.


End file.
